A fluid, insistent guitar style that’s disco at moments and flanged at others, plus a magnetic, over-enunciating frontman? Yes, that’s Nashville’s Sol Cat, a weirdly thrilling smash-up of first-album Franz Ferdinand and fake-tamed Anthony Kiedis. There’s a crowd-pleasing lilt to their rock that skews pop — they may as might have dubbed themselves “Soul Patch” — but the sheer weirdness of the sonics clothing every hook may well endear Sol Cat to both the 12-CD a year punter and the Brooklyn beardo who wishes the Strokes employed more effects pedals in the studio.
Sat., April 26, 8 p.m., 2014
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on April 23, 2014